In a bustling teahouse, the storyteller’s voice rang out, praising the might of General Xu Wenzhen, whose silver spear once tore through enemy lines like a god of war descended.

Qing Zhi’s fan paused mid-wave, a faint, mocking smile on her lips. Was he speaking of the same young marquis who once fled to Lingnan with her?

Three years ago, he swore he would never leave without a word—yet one day, he vanished. The peach blossoms in her courtyard bloomed and fell, year after year, but he never returned. Eventually, she stopped waiting.

Then one day, a troop of iron-clad riders halted before her humble restaurant.

“Come back to the capital with me,” the man on horseback commanded, his armor gleaming cold in the sunlight.

Qing Zhi looked up, smiling faintly. “I’m getting married.”

She told him, “One day, you’ll likely wed a gentle, refined lady from a noble family… or a bold and valiant general’s daughter.”

But his eyes were red as he asked, “And the one I wish to marry—why can’t it be you?”

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